


The Line of Fire

by Final_fanatic_XV



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, M/M, Poetic, Poor Prompto Argentum, Regret, Sad, Short, Suicidal Thoughts, self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26059150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Final_fanatic_XV/pseuds/Final_fanatic_XV
Summary: "Prompto didn't want to live. All living included was problems, and he was too weak to fight through them anyways. The biggest accomplishment, as Prompto thought, was living through an awful life of problems like his. But he would never get that achievement. He wasn't strong. He was weak, and no matter how much he worked on his muscles, there was a part of him that never got stronger, and never would."
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum, slight promptis - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	The Line of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written when I was very angry and listening to "Angel with a shotgun".  
> The is a trigger warning on this fic, so please be warned. Enjoy!
> 
> It also might look a little sloppy to the story-minded reader, but it is just poetic. It's a style I write in sometimes.

Prompto didn't want to live. All living included was problems, and he was too weak to fight through them anyways. The biggest accomplishment, as Prompto thought, was living through an awful life of problems like his. But he would never get that achievement. He wasn't strong. He was weak, and no matter how much he worked on his muscles, there was a part of him that never got stronger, and never would.

Prompto hated himself. But who was surprised? Everyone hated him. Or, at least, they would hate him if he let anyone know the real him. A fugitive from Niflheim. A Magitec Trooper. But it wasn't just that, he had other things wrong with him too. Things that he knew he could change, but was too lazy to ever try. He was ugly, and he never bothered to hide it with products. He was loud and annoying, but he never bothered to shut his big mouth. He was lonly, but he was well aware he didn't deserve to find companionship. And he was gay, but his hopeless flirting with the opposite gender never got him anywhere.

All these problems had infected Prompto. His barcode infected his nightmares. His ugliness infected his self-esteem. His home country infected his friendships. His loud mouth infected his chance of attracting ladies. All his problems infected his brain, which in turn infected the cuts he would lay on his body. He was poisoned, and he kept it all inside as to not poison anyone he loved.

His love was corrupt. He loved his friend Noctis, and he'd cling to him while in private he would fantasize of him inapropriatley. He loved Ignis, but he loved him in a corrupt way that he labeled off as motherly love. He loved Gladiolus, but he always felt he had to push himself to be as good as him. Of course, he never reached his goal. No matter how corrupt his love for his friends was, the most corrupt love was to himself. He loved a fake him with all his heart, but the ties of love to his true self had rotted over time.

He was rotten. He was spoiled, and he was never grateful. He got to live in the beautiful city of Insomnia, where there was cleanslieness, good people, and acception. He got to go to school. He got to have friends. He got to have a place to live, with running water, electricity, internet, food, everything. He was spoiled, and though he occasionally whispered thanks, he would never really be thankful on a root deep level.

There was only one thing Prompto knew he would ever be sincerely grateful for-- death. Days and nights passed with thoughts of how everyone would be able to be happy once he was gone. They passed with wishes he would soon feel the icy fingers of Death wrapped around his throat, taking his final breath. They passed with hopes he would be able to plan things out, set a date, place, and method. They passed with prays everything would end.

Then everything did.  
They ended with love.  
Mouth-rottingly bittersweet love.  
Prompto died in the line of fire.

And with his last moments alive, Noctis told him he loved him. Noctis told him how much happiness his big mouth brought into every moment. Noctis told him he would miss every smile his beautiful face brought to him. Noctis told him he would hold dear to the love he had given him in the past years. Noctis told him he didn't believe it was possible for such a perfect man to live on the face of the planet. Noctis told him that he was sorry for never being properly thankful for having him by his side. Noctis told him he wished it was him shot instead.

Noctis told him he didn't want for him to die. He told him he loved the true him from the bottom of his heart. He said he loved the true him, and he said it hurt him to say goodbye. He said he would have took his own life if it could save his. He said he wanted him to hold on. He said he knew that wasn't an option. He said he loved him, and he didn't want him to die. He said goodbye.

Then everything ended.  
They ended with love.  
Mouth-rottingly bittersweet love.  
Prompto died in the line of fire.

The bullet shot happiness.  
It shot love.  
It shot smiles.  
It shot companionship.  
It shot beauty.  
It shot perfection.  
It shot hopes and dreams.  
It shot entertainment.  
It shot enjoyment.  
It shot pleasure.  
It shot accomplishment.  
It shot thanks.  
It shot encouragement.  
It shot truthfulness.  
It shot modesty.  
It shot humour.  
It shot strength.  
It shot awe.  
It shot liveliness.  
It shot energy.  
It shot sweetness.  
It shot greatness.  
It shot fun.  
It shot creativity.  
It shot light.  
It shot kindness.  
And it shot happiness.

The bullet shot Prompto.


End file.
